


Read My Lips

by jasmiinitee



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector Morse & Related Fandoms
Genre: 20biteen is here, Bisexual Characters, Closeted, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Crossdressing, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romantic Fluff, but like a Lite (tm) version I guess, inspired by that lipstick joke joan cracks in series 5, morse is a jealous type even if he doesn't like to admit it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 12:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17683292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmiinitee/pseuds/jasmiinitee
Summary: Well it's just like a girl I can keep a boy guessing /I'll wring you by the neck and I'll teach you such a lessonI'll bleed from my profession / Here is my confessionThe Fratellis, "The Next Time We Wed"If Peter preferred red, and if he wanted people to see that he’d been kissed - not just once or twice lightly and chastely, but properly, over and over - then Morse was more than willing to sacrifice what was left of his dignity. He’d give Peter red.





	Read My Lips

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Kissed a Boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17672195) by [Fitzrove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitzrove/pseuds/Fitzrove). 



> I painted [this portrait](https://jasmiinitee.tumblr.com/post/182560999168/) of Morse inspired by the lovely silly lipstick joke Joan cracks at him in series 5 e1, and then my friend wrote the best ficlet for it.  
> I painted [another one](https://jasmiinitee.tumblr.com/post/182587581113/) of Pete, and then I did this.
> 
> Not necessarily written as an exact mirror pair for that fic, but definitely a companion piece and can be read as such.

It wasn’t that Morse was jealous of the attention Peter gave other people. How could he? If complaining and sneering was second nature to Peter, racy comments and long looks were his _first_. It wasn’t that Morse was jealous - that prickly sort of openness was part of what made Peter so fascinating.  
It was just a bit difficult, sometimes, to remember that even despite their current… _situation_ \- whatever it was that they had together - he wasn’t the only person Peter had eyes for. 

And of course that wasn’t what he’d expected from their arrangement! No. He knew Peter, and he knew himself, and more than that he knew _what was and wasn’t exactly right_ with the whole thing.  
He was… happy, he thought so, about the way things were. How some of his evenings were spent in a pile of limbs on Peter’s armchair, watching that horrible police series of his from the television. The one Peter refused to see himself in, even though the character David was constantly making Morse laugh with how he lounged about in well-tailored suits.  
Or how on some mornings he actually managed to get up and get the kettle on before Peter would arise in a coughing fit. How he was able to make some breakfast for Peter, in turn, for all of his surprisingly cosy tea and spaghetti and sandwiches.

He wasn’t _jealous_ of the way Peter smiled at a charming girl or another. Hell, more often than not Morse was equally charmed himself. He was just a little bit… annoyed. Or a little bit inconvenienced by the truth (that had no right to feel so sore) that they couldn’t really run along the High Street and show each other around. Peter might have liked something like that, or maybe going to clubs. They could hardly even get groceries together, when even that would have been enough for Morse.  
It wasn’t jealousy. It was attraction to the ease with which he acted around people. To the cocky way Peter smiled, knowing full well that usually he had every reason to be satisfied with himself. He was gorgeous. He looked gorgeous next to any woman.

So it wasn’t any misplaced envy that made his skin rise up like gooseflesh when Peter leaned in and whispered in his ear.  
‘You know, Morse,’ he said, ‘Sometimes I think… I’d like it if you were my girl. Everyone would see where you’d kissed me with those lips.’ He trailed his fingers over Morse’s jaw and neck, past his collar to his shoulder and chest. Morse knew he mirrored the path his lips had taken on Peter’s skin the previous night.  
‘Do I have to start biting,’ he asked back, softly and lightly. Peter stopped and looked at him with wide eyes, and it was more than worth his own flush.  
‘Was already more bite than I’d have known to wait for,’ Peter said, holding back a grin. Morse huffed out a soft laugh, but shoved Peter’s hand away when it started to creep too close to the front of his trousers.  
‘We’ll be late.’  
‘Yeah. You want to be too early?’  
‘It’s a suspected _arson_ , Peter. Not a picnic.’

Well, in the end they were a bit late for that one. Thankfully it turned out to be an accidental fire in the end.

So it definitely wasn’t jealousy that made him ask a shop assistant if a hypothetical sister of his - stretching his imagination a bit for a redheaded Joyce - would do best with what kind of red shade. He was just running errands. She was very helpful - apparently, if you were a redhead, cool-tinted pink tones were your friend. Morse had a hard time seeing the exact difference between “blue-red peach” and a “warm mauve”, but the assistant seemed to take it with a joking kind of resignation. She was happy to show him a few examples.

‘So your sister, is she after a frosty or a bright look?’  
‘Is frosty those… pale tones?’ he asked, trying not to look too uncomfortable. She smiled politely and opened one to show him.  
‘Yeah. Twiggy just wore a very nice pale pink for an Australian magazine in May, but she’s blonde so it doesn’t make her face look too washed-up.’ She looked at his face like evaluating an auction piece. Morse shook his head.  
‘We’re looking for the bright few then, red. I think.’ He didn’t know who Twiggy was and didn’t try to make it sound like he did. ‘I think Joyce would go for those.’  
She wouldn’t. But maybe if she’d been him and had his rust-coloured hair (and if she were picking her lip colour for attention from Peter Jakes) she might have picked the sort of pinks the shop assistant showed him next. A bit darker and stronger than the first few.  
‘This is more fuchsia than pink already.’  
‘Would it suit her?’ he asked.  
‘It would suit you, love, so I believe so,’ she said and smiled jokingly, maybe even a bit friendlier than you’d need to, in customer service. Morse returned the smile with one he hoped was bashful enough but not too guilty.  
‘I think I won’t be trying it on this time,’ he said and she laughed. ‘Thanks. That one, then.’

It wasn’t jealousy. It was actually spite, more than anything. Peter had kissed his lips sore the other night, and said how good they looked so red, called them soft and sweet and _pouty_. It really hadn’t made Morse feel sure about his face for the following few days.  
But if Peter preferred red, and if he wanted people to see that he’d been kissed - not just once or twice lightly and chastely, but properly, over and over - then Morse was more than willing to sacrifice what was left of his dignity. He’d give Peter red. 

Besides, the shop assistant had been right in her advice. The shade she’d picked for him didn’t look half bad when he finished painting his lips. It looked silly, of course, on principle, but for a man with a face like his he wasn’t doing a poor job at all, modelling the hue. He was very glad that he'd once allowed himself to be dragged into helping in a college play. He would have been a bit lost otherwise.  
And he truly enjoyed Peter’s gobsmacked look when he finally saw it. It really wasn't often that Peter Jakes looked flustered, no less for _him_.


End file.
